jipstyle
Jul 27, 2004, 11:31 PM
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Registered: May 27, 2003
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Ow ow ow ow ow. I've never hiked until my legs cramped and refused to carry my weight before.
I've also never seen grizzly bears while hiking before ... a wonderful if very surprising experience.
I was planning to go backpacking in Garibaldi, but at the last minute I realised that I needed a water purification system. I had assumed that the campsites would have clean water .... with cook shelters, bear hangs, pit toilets, I thought that water was an obvious assumption. Well, I was wrong and I'm glad I found out BEFORE I hiked up there.
Rather than let my week of vacation go to waste, I decided to spend it doing day hikes and perhaps a 2 or 3 three day trip to the top of Coliseum Mountain. First, however, I wanted to get acquainted with the trails on the North Shore and get an idea of the distances, heights, and difficulties involved before committing myself to a backcountry adventure. I've done lots of backcountry camping back east, but nothing in the mountains ... it was high-time I started exploring!
I'll get this out the way first ... I admit right now that I probably bit off more than I could chew with this hike. On the other hand, I chewed it, made it out the other end, and am writing this TR.
My plan was simple ... starting at the Lynn Headwaters trailhead, I planned to hike north along the Lynn Headwaters trail until it met a trail that headed through Hanes Valley (behind the Goat mountain range), up into the range and then back south to Grouse mountain. At this point, I would hike down the Grind and mock the urbanites who consider that pile of shite a 'hike'.
I chose this route because it is longer than my route on the Chief, with a greater elevation gain. On my birthday a couple weeks ago, I summited the three peaks of the Chief and added the Upper Shannon Falls trail before coming back down to the campground. It took me about 4 hours, and while I was tired, I knew I could do more. I wanted a challenge.
It also helped that both trailheads were easily accessible by public transit ... finding quality hikes that don't require a car is difficult, though not impossible.
I started from the Lynn Headwaters trailhead at 1pm. The signboard said that the hike I was planning takes approximately 7-8 hours, and that sunset was around 8pm. I figured I'd hike as far as the intersection of the Lynn Headwaters and the Hanes Valley trail, and judge my time accordingly. If thought I might not make it to the trailhead in time, I'd hike to the headwaters instead ... not as much fun, but better safe than sorry.
The first hour passed quickly. The Cedar Mill trail was very well graded and groomed. A dozen people could walk abreast, chatting easily, and it could easily be ridden by anyone on a mountain bike. I set a good pace, determined to make good time on the easiest part of the hike and be able to continue my hike all the way to Grouse Mountain.
The trail was so well groomed, it felt no different than the gravel road I walked along to get to the trailhead. The most interesting thing I found along the way, other than the hordes of ill-dressed 'hikers' who were already moaning about the heat, the distance, etc. etc., was an old logging car on the side of the trail. Actually, it is unfair to call it a 'car' .. only the rusted frame remained. The interesting part was the tree growing out of the middle of the frame. It was approximately a foot in diameter, and had obviously grown after the car had been abandoned. At one end, the tree had grown up against the frame, and was in the process of growing AROUND the car ... swallowing the frame into itself. Go Mother Nature!
After a couple of km, the Cedar Mill trail loops back into another, equally easy route, and the Lynn Headwaters trail continued north. Here, the trail become a trail, rather than a route, and the going got rougher. This section was more like the Chief trails that I was used to ... not as steep, but I was now required to think about the trail and where it led. A good warm up for the rest of the hike, I was happy. The forest was thicker here, and occassionally opened up to beautiful views of the Lynn Valley.
The trail rose about 100m in 3 km ... a very easy elevation gain, and while the trail was rough, I hiked up at a good pace. I passed half-a-dozen parties on my way to the Hanes Valley trail, so I figured I was quicker than the 'average' hiker. This led me to believe that I could do the route in less than the 7 to 8 hour estimate posted on the signboards at the trailhead.
Norvan Creek intersects the Lynn Headwaters trail about an hour and half into my hike. A nice suspension bridge that swayed alarmingly allow hikers to cross when the creek is raging, but our hot and dry summer had dried to creek to a trickle. There were more rocks than water in the creek bed, and a pair of hikers had stopped for a picnic in the middle of the creek. I was making excellent time, and was humming happily as my lungs were filled with fresh air and my ears with the sounds of a happy forest. Life was good.
I arrived at the Hanes Valley trail at about 3pm. Two hours into my hike, I felt great. I had made good time ... my map showed that I had completed almost half of my route and I still had 5 hours until sundown. The decision to continue was easy. Off I went to explore this valley hidden behind the Goat Mountain range that rises out of North Vancouver.
The differences between the Hanes Valley trail and the Lynn Headwaters trail became evident immediately. This trail required constant vigilance. The 'trail' itself a barely noticeable track through the forest, and I was constantly forced to stop and find the next blaze on the trees ahead of me. Often, I couldn't see one and had to rely on my judgement ... following the most likely trail slowly, searching for the next blaze.
All three trails crossed creek beds and debris chutes, and nowhere was the difference in the three trails more evident than here. The Cedar Mills trail was graded and these creeks were forced to pass underneath the trail, through pipes. Debris chutes were cleaned and removed from the trail. The Lynn Headwaters trail had bridges crossing these areas ... ranging from 4 foot wide bridges made of sturdy planks to wide tree trunks that had been levelled, carved for traction, and usually with railings to assist those with little balance. The Hanes Valley trail had none of these. Generally, a piece of fluorescent flagging was tied to a bush on the edge of the creek bed or chute to indicate where one is supposed to descend into the obstruction. Hopping across, I had to search for another piece of flagging on the other side that indicated where I should climb out on the other side.
Rather than deter me, these natural hazards only increased my enjoyment of the trail. Although my pace was considerably slower than it had been on the other trails, I was finally in the wilderness. I stopped periodically, turning around and staring in awe at the dense forest around me, listening to the birds and small animals squawking, pretending they were talking about me. I was filled with peace, serenity, and a love of everything around me. Looking at my map, I realised that 'all' I had left to do was hike up out of the valley, ascending into a mountain pass between Goat and Crown mountains, and traverse until I reached the Grouse Alpine Park. I was sad that my hike was going to be over so quickly.
I was very, very mistaken.
Approximately an hour into my hike through the valley, the trees opened up and I was able to see into the valley itself. I was stunned. I'd never seen this kind of beauty before. The mountain range towered in front of me, falling quickly and steeply into the valley floor which was covered in more colours of green than I had seen since flying over Ireland. To my right, in the direction of my travel, was a long steep scree slope. At the top of this slope was slight indentation between Goat and Crown mountains. It dawned on my that I was going to have to climb up there. I smiled. Finally! Some elevation! With a spring in my step, I was off again.
The trail stayed about 100m above the floor of the valley below, but both
continued to rise gently. My thighs were starting to burn from the constant elevation change and from the challenging trail, but I wasn't worried. It was a 'good' burn, telling me that I was exercising well.
I had brought a lot of water ... far more than I thought I would need. I had frozen water in two 1L nalgene bottles overnight, and filled the remaining 400ml in each before I left in the morning. As a result, I had a constant supply of good, cold water as I hiked. I also had a 2L water bladder that I had kept in the fridge over night ... I used this to keep refilling the nalgenes, so that the ice in the bottles would cool the water from the bladder. I also brought a long-sleeve 'technical' shirt, running tights, and my shell, and enough trail mix and fruit leathers to feed a small army. Compass, map, sunscreen, 3 bandanas, a hat, and a first aid kit ... I was overprepared. I could stay out all night if necessary. While packing, I opted to fill my pack and endure the extra weight rather than risk getting caught without something I needed. I reasoned that it would be good conditioning to haul a full day-pack, the weight of which was still a fraction of my expedition pack with tent, stove, and assorted gear for camping.
I thought I knew what I was doing.
I mentioned earlier that the trail had left the trees. They were replaced with hundreds of berry bushes ... mostly raspberries. I was reminded of a wonderful camping trip in NB, where my partner and I had stumbled upon a similar bounty of nature's finest. On that hike, we were able to gorge ourselves on the berries, which were beautifully ripe, and our only competition were avian.
This time, however, most of the berries were either not quite ripe. More importantly, the possibility of serious competition for this food source was weighing on my mind. Bears are beautiful creatures, and I was happy to share the wealth with them. Whether they felt the same way was a definite concern, however. Both grizzlies and black bears are common in these areas, and I had just wandered into their version of a food court in the mall.
Mentally reviewing my bear check-list, I prepared myself for the possibility of an encounter of the ursine kind. Bears are dangerous, there is no doubt about that, but a bear encounter need not be a cause for alarm. They aren't interested in seeing us, and we aren't prey, so as long as I kept my cool, I figured I would be safe.
Have I mentioned that I thought I knew what I was doing? Yah.
Continuing along my hike, I started to sing my 'bear song.' Consisting mostly of brilliant verse such as "Hello Mr. Bear, please don't be scared, no bears here" etc etc., I was certain that if the noise didn't warn them away from my path, my horrible singing voice would send the poor creatures fleeing in terror.
When you are walking alone in the deep forest, a sensitive person quickly becomes attuned to their environment. You hear more, smell more, and seem to see more sharply. You feel more attuned to the creatures and plants around you. You can hear the squirrels and chipmunks racing through the undergrowth and up trees. At first, some may mistake these rustlings for larger creatures, but one quickly learns that these little sounds are made by little creatures.
When you are in this deep synthesis with nature, and you hear a stick snap on the trail in front of you, you immediately know that it is not a small mammal. When you hear this stick snap, and you realise that the sound came from no more than 5 feet in front of you, your bowels loosen a little. All the bear knowledge in the world slides out of your mind and is quickly replaced by the "fight or flight' reflex ... and any sane person choose flight.
Every piece of bear knowledge I've read, however, clearly state: Do Not Run Away. This provokes most bears to chase you, regardless of their intent. A grizzly can outsprint a race horse .. and that old fable about bears not being able to run downhill is just that .. a fable. Whoever thinks they can navigate a bear's natural habitat more easily or more quickly than they probably thinks they can also out-swim a shark.
So I overcame my irrational desire to FLEE FLEE FLEE and started walking slowly backwards. I had stopped singing, but I honestly don't think I could have. This is probably for the better, since the old man who walked around the corner would probably have thought my singing voice destroyed the peace of his hike.
I jumped, he jumped, and we both laughed. I explained that I had bears on the brain ... and that the berry bushes everywhere had made me a little nervous. He smiled, agreed, and mentioned that he had seen bears in the area before, though from afar, and not today. I was relieved.
He then asked me a curious question: "have you hiked this trail before?" No, I replied, but I was enjoying it very much. With a serious expression on his face, he asked if I was aware that I had a steep climb ahead. Nodding, I smiled and said "yup .. kinda looking forward to it, actually." Giving me a look that spoke volumes I was unable to read, he shrugged and we wished each other a beautiful day and continued on our separate journeys.
Soon after this encounter, the trail suddenly veered to the right across the scree slope. This was the end of Hanes valley, and the beginning of my ascent.
My thighs were burning already, but I felt confident of my physical fitness to finish this hike. Finding the trail, however, proved to be challenging. The scree slope consists of nothing but rocks piled upon each other. With no vegetation available on which to tie flagging, the trail markers were cairns with small bamboo poles sticking out of them. These poles generally had flagging attached. Unfortunately, most of the poles had fallen out of their holders, and much of the flagging had been ripped off by the wind. Out in the open, these trail markers were subject to the full force of Nature's fury and most didn't survive.
Thankfully, I had brought a good topographical map and a compass, so it was easy enough for me to navigate between unflagged sections of the trail. Where I found a pole had been dislodged, I tried to set it up again so that the next hiker could find it, and where I found flagging on the ground, I tried to find something to tie it too. However, the trail obviously led straight up the slope to the small pass between Crown mountain and the Goat range, and each route up the slope was as bad as another.
The rocks on the slope ranged from pebbles to the size of small cars, and their appearance gave little or no indication of their stability. Some of them moved with the slightest touch of your hand or foot, while others would have stayed firm in an avalance. The dangerous ones, though, were the ones that appeared firm until I placed my weight on them, at which point they shifted, slid, or just jumped down the slope (seemingly) of their own free will. The 'hiking' here quickly became scrambling, and I very quickly became very tired. On all fours, I began resting at each flag I found, letting my legs rest before they cramped up. Although it was only 5pm, I was dismayed to see the sun disappear behind the mountains. There was still plenty of light, but it was enough to worry me. Even if the sun set completely, I had my headlamp in my pack ... but finding the flags in the dark on this slope seemed a hopeless task. I vowed to get to the pass before it got too dark to find the trail at the top.
Another problem with the sun setting soon began buzzing angrily about me. Bugs. Mosquitoes, black flies, and other miscellaneous biting critters were all delighted that I brought a fresh dinner for them ... me. The buzzing was far more annoying than the biting, though. I changed out of my now-soaked tank-top and into my long-sleeved running shirt. I was immediately thankful ... not only for the protection from the bugs, but for the warmth. I hadn't realised how wet my tanktop was, nor how much the temperature had dropped until I was forced to sit every 20m and catch my breath.
The biggest problem at this point, though, was neither the bugs nor the slope. It was my rapidly deteriorating physical and mental stamina. In the last hour, I had hike less than a km, and each footstep was getting more difficult. I was now forcing myself to pick a rock 20 or 30m ahead and hike to it before sitting again and letting my legs rest. The view of the valley behind me became more and more stunning as I ascended above it, but I had difficulty appreciating it. I was stumbling, and more than once I caught myself inches from a broken or sprained ankle. My climber reflexes saved me many times, as a rock flew out from under me and my arms were forced to hold my weight until I found another place to put my foot. The results of a fall here were unthinkable ... at best, I'd be lame and require a rescue ... but the probability of a long fall down sharp rocks on a steep slope terrified me enough to give me new strength.
I realised that I was 'bonking.' I'd been drinking water constantly through out my hike, but hadn't eaten much. Breakfast and lunch consisted of a big bowl of oatmeal and 2 peanut-butter and banana burritos ... obviously, not enough fuel for this hike. I had a big bag of trail mix in my pocket (peanuts, sunflower seeds, chopped dates and raisins .. yum!), but I hadn't been eating much. I also had lots of blueberry and raspberry fruit 'leathers' (pressed fruit) in my backpack, but hadn't been eating them. I forced myself to sit down for 15 minutes and eat. While I was anxious about the approach of sunset, I was increasingly aware that my physical and mental state were far from ideal .. I needed to refuel and rest.
I sat, ate, and considered my options while massmurdering insects by the hundreds. I knew I was well-equipped. Although I lacked shelter, I had warm clothes, water and food enough to easily survive being caught in the wilderness at night. I resolved to keep an eye out for possible camping spots, while also watching the sky. If I was going to spend the night out here, I was determined to find a good safe place to do it. My driving desire, though, was to get to the top of Grouse Mountain and finish my hike. I resolved to continue my hike so long as it was safe to do so, and to lower my speed to conserve energy.
After my alloted 15 minutes were up, I started up the slope again. I had used my binoculars (yep, brought them too) to search the forest at the top of the pass for the trail entrance. I spotted the familiar orange flagging, and decided to head straight for it rather than trying to find each individual trail marker. I drew a bead on a tall tree beside the flag that I could see without using the binos, and headed straight up toward it. At first, my legs felt fine, but soon the familiar burn started again. My hip flexors in particular felt like they were going to rip themselves off my body and hike home alone, angry that I had put them through this. More alarming than the pain, however, was the shaking that started in my legs. Reading my map, I had realised that this slope was only the beginning of the 1000 ft ascent. The thought that my legs were beginning to give out terrified me. I aimed for that pass, determined to sleep on vegetation rather than rocks if I was benighted.
Finally reaching the pass, I sat / fell down on a nice grassy mound and stared at the valley below me. Stretching away for kilometers in front of me, with a forested wall on one side (that I had hiked through) and a bare steep rock wall on the other, it was a beautiful and invigorating sight. Visible in several spots at the base of the rock wall was snow that still had not melted ... in late July.
At this point, the food I had eaten had taken some effect and I felt considerably better. Although my legs still hurt, and shook, my mind was much clearer than it had been while stuggling up the scree slope. I had everything I needed to survive for several days in this wilderness, and while I wouldn't be comfortable without a tent, I was no longer afraid for my life. A new surge of energy possessed me ... I was going to finish this hike, damn it, and I'm going to enjoy it!
I walked for about 200 m along the top of the pass, following relatively level terrain, and was happy that I didn't have to stop.
Soon, however, the trail tended to the vertical again, and this time it was muddy. Every footstep was carefully placed, pressing into the mud for traction and by pulling on roots, trees, and rocks with my hands, I tried to minimise the exertion required by my legs. Soon, however, I was stopping every 20 m again to rest. At this point, I was stopping because my legs were seized with violent cramps. Whenever they started, I tried to find a rock as quickly as possible to sit on and wait them out, grimacing and gruning in pain as my quads seized and released over and over again. I could see my muscles twitching involuntarily ... and was getting scared again. This is not something I have ever before, and I didn't like it!
Nonetheless, I perservered. The pass initially passed between Goat Mountain (1401m) to my left (south) and Crown Mountain (to my right). Once passed Goat Mountain, the trail turned to the south and cut between Goat Mountain (still on my left, but east now) and Little Goat Mountain ('only' 1317m ) on my right. This was the roughest part of the trail, and several places had chains bolted to rock and tree for additional safety. These chains were a life-saver .. not because of the additional safety, but because I could pull myself up with my arms and take the weight off of my legs.
The ground became rockier and rockier, and the trees shrank. I was finally into the krumholtz, and was rewarded with alpine beauty. Wildflowers grew everywhere here, drinking up the sunshine that was swallowed by the huge trees lower down. And the views! How can I describe them? Imagine walking into a Monet, or (more appropriately) a Tom Thompson painting every time you turn a corner. Views of the mountain ranges around me, valleys descending steeply, coated in the green trees that make the air here so crisp and clear and clean that I started to feel alive and welcome and happy. The Group of Seven would bow down in homage of these views, I am sure, as would anyone of any sensitivity.
I am certain that the fact that I was back in the sunlight helped as well. I had climbed high enough that the sun was visible again, and I realised that it was far from sundown. I had hours of sunlight left, and the fear of being caught by the sunset disappeared. As a result, I slowed down and drank in the beauty, allowing it calm and strengthen me.
The beauty of this place was so extravagant that I often forgot about the pains in my legs, stopping only when a muscle seized and forced me to hop to sit on a boulder or root. My original plan was to summit Goat Mountain ... trails lead from the Hanes Loop to the summits of Goat, Little Goat, and Crown Mountain ... and while I was keen to see the views from the tops of these peaks, I knew that the attempt would be futile. I soldiered on.
I ran into my first human beings since encountering the man in the valley ... an elderly couple slowly making their way along the trail. I had passed several unfamiliar trail markings, and noticed that the trail here was in considerably shape than it had been before I left the pass. Clearly, I was close to the finish. I exchanged pleasantries with the couple, and moved on. Soon, the trail widened and widened until it could accomodate a 4wd vehicle ... it was now graded just as the Cedar Mill trail was ... and signs announcing various attractions on Grouse Mountain began to pop up like fungus everywhere I looked. I was back in 'civilisation.'
The most interesting sign, or more surprising, was one hung every 5m on a wire fence running along side the trail. It read: CAUTION: Electric Fence
Electric fence? What the hell? What need would we possibly have for an elec .... oh ... hello mr. bear. Aren't you huge. Ummm .. yes .. you are tall as well ... thank you for standing for me.
Although I was protected from this adolescent grizzly by the electric fence, I felt much closer to him than I ever had been to an animal in the zoo. The physical distance was the same, but .. perhaps it was the hike I had just endured in the wilderness, or the fact that I had just spent 6 hours in bear country ... I'm not sure, but for a moment I was able to ignore the fence and just stare in amazement at the simple beauty of this majestic animal. When another bear appeared beside the first, and nuzzled his neck, I felt like I had just been awarded a prize for completing my hike.
The spell was shattered by a horde of papparazzi-tourons who came screaming around the corner, "there they are! the bears!" with their cameras flashing. The male stood up on his hind legs again, but this time he didn't seem curious ... he moved between the fence and his affectionate friend. The flashes kept popping (despite the bright sunlight), until the female turned and ambled back into the woods. Watching her over his shoulder, the male turned and roared at the tourists before following her.
Two of them actually fell over when he roared. I don't blame them. Making a grizzly, even a 'small' one, angry is never a good idea. The rest jumped back 10 ft. as though that would save them. Oddly, I didn't feel frightened, and I wasn't surprised by his reaction. I felt badly that he was upset by these urban idiots, and was angry that they had destroyed our moment. But I knew he wasn't roaring at me.
I quickly left the gaggle of tourists behind me, trying to ignore their ignorant comments ("I could wrestle that one", "Why did he run away?", "What a rip-off") before I was exploded in an angry lecture. They wouldn't understand, and it was their loss.
Walking across Grouse is a study in ugliness. The ski slopes are bare in the summer, and the area seems devasted in comparison to what I had just walked through. There were women in high heels and men in flip-flops, and gaggles of angry screaming children. Yay civilisation. Even with a pronounced limp, I outdistanced them easily and thankfully.
The view from Grouse is nice, I suppose. You can see Vancouver Island, the city itself, and it is a nice panorama. There are better places to see it from though, and the Grouse Tourist Park is enough of a turn-off to ruin the view.
Although I had wanted to hike down the Grind, I realised I was too tired to attempt it. Hiking steeply downhill on legs that seized periodically seemed almost suidical, and definitely masochistic. I paid 5$ and took the Grouse Skyride down instead, enduring the yuppies stretching and bragging about their times on the Grind. One young woman, noticing my limp and probably the mud, sweat, and extremely mussed hair I was sporting, asked what my time was. Obviously, I must have been fast ... given the condition I was in, the fact that I looked fit, and my technical clothing, I must have been fast. Imagine her surprise when I looked at my watch, did a quick calculation, and announed "a little under 6 hours ... not bad .. I was expecting 7."
She looked shocked, and confused. I didn't explain. Her long, well polished fingernails, bright Nikes, and well coiffed hair almost guaranteed that she wouldn't understand.
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